Friday, October 31, 2008

My wife and I foster a lot of rescued animals of a wide variety of species. We've had countless dogs and cats, many chickens and roosters, pigeons, lambs, goats, calves, a seagull and a raccoon. We keep these wayward critters in our apartment in Brooklyn for anywhere from a few hours to a few weeks, until we can find them permanent homes where they will be cared for and not eaten. One such traveler on the underground railroad was an umbrella cockatoo.

Perhaps most notably, however, was that he was the only creature I've ever met who liked me more than he liked my wife. Normally, people merely tolerate me because my wife is so much fun to hang out with. But Sitting Bull–god love his dandered heart–thought I hung the moon. That was the good news. On the other side of the AP wire report was that he not just preferred me over my wife, he hated her with a passion. I honestly believe he wished her dead.

When he was perched on my shoulder watching me draw and she would approach, he would snap at her viciously. If she sat down in the same room as me to watch TV or read a magazine, he would methodically scuttle down the side of my chair and begin walking robotically across the floor toward her, repeating his mantra, "I love you," like a wind-up toy. Without giving away his intentions until the last possible second, as soon as he was within striking distance, he would lash out at her foot with a chomp that would shatter steel.

His beak was a formidable opponent, not one to be trifled with. Like a James Bond Villain's henchman, he could render a rigid piece of metal unrecognizable in minutes. He once got hold of one of those stiffly-coiled car keyrings, the sort you need a crowbar to wedge your key on or off of, and turned it into a dented, crinkled spiral in the blink of an eye.

Since he found my wife so objectionable, we considered finding him another foster home before she lost a finger or the end of her nose. The final straw was one afternoon when she brought me a sandwich at lunchtime, carefully tossing it onto my desk and ducking away quickly, before Sitting Bull could swipe at her with his tomahawk. From his usual post on my shoulder, he snapped at the air in her direction and missed, which frustrated him to he point that he turned to his other side and took a large chunk out of the first 3-dimensional object he could reach. Which was my ear.

Sitting Bull eventually found a home, but it bears noting that ideally, parrots do not belong in captivity. They are highly intelligent, most are captured in the wild and crated here cruelly, like slaves of old, and none like spending their life in a cage. As our species seems not to have noticed, millions of years of evolution has designed birds to fly. Taking that option away from them is as cruel as attaching a snorkel to a dog and forcing it to live in an aquarium.

If you're considering getting a bird of any kind, read up about them first. Then don't do it. Unless you're going to adopt one of the thousands of abandoned birds that people give up every year after they realize how expensive and difficult it is to keep a parrot, which may well live longer than they do.

If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, its yours forever. If it doesn't, hunt it down and shoot it.

I remember first finding out about short couches being called "love seats" when I was a child. I immediately assumed there must be an opposite, a "hate seat." The first time I saw one of those s-shaped chairs, I figured this was a likely candidate. But then if you really hate someone, why would you want to be this close? I couldn't quite figure out why these kinds of chairs were ever designed.

After a few years of marriage, I understood. As you long-term-relationship readers know, there are many times when you want to be close to your partner, but not "among" them. These chairs are perfect for that, like when you both want to read. Or perhaps when one of you wants to read and the other wants to watch football.

Or better yet, when you've recently had an argument and your partner is reading and you want to fume nearby but not join them in what they are doing. Like when she is reading or using her laptop, you could sit in the other side with your brow knitted, your arms and legs crossed, and fume. Seems perfect. Here's a cool, modern version of it for urban, 21st century arguments.

These seats swivel so you can face each other when you're happy and turn away when you're not. A good piece of furniture for an argument, turning toward or away as you agree or disagree. Careful you don't make yourself nauseous.

This chair is sold as a love seat and looks as though it is every bit as uncomfortable as love inevitably ends up (occasionally) being. Virtually no one gets through a romantic relationship without feeling at some point as though you've been sitting in one of these chairs in the hot sun for eighteen hours without a bathroom break.

The most you can hope for in relationships is to feel as though you've spent more time in a seat like this than this. Good luck to all.

Bizarro is brought to you today by Eternal Crosswalks. "Bring a lunch and wear comfortable shoes."

Today's offering is from last year's Halloween week. I thought of this cartoon in the spring of '07 and hung onto it for months until it was seasonal. I don't always do that, but in this case, I really liked the gag and wanted to use it around Halloween. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow was a favorite Halloween story of mine as a kid, little did I know that I would one day look not unlikeIchabod Crane.

I've also always really enjoyed pumpkin carving and got pretty good at it as an adult. Back in the early nineties, I won a national contest sponsored by TreeTop Apple Juice. The grand prize was an all-expense-paid trip for four to Disney World, which I took with my wife and two small kids. It was fun, except for the fact that the kids were there and became the typical buzzkills that overexcited/overtired children can be. The sacrifices parents make for their kids.

The next hear I won second prize, which was a small, digitial camera. Nowadays no one would consider a little pocket digital camera to be much of a prize, but back then they still carried some novelty value.

This cartoon is from Halloween day last year. I got some negative mail from straights and lesbians alike, the former thinking I was being pro-gay, the latter accusing me of gay bashing. My lesbian friends thought it was funny, however, especially the use of a golf club instead of a broom.

I never do cartoons that are knowingly anti-homosexual. GLBTs have enough trouble in our culture without my help. I poke fun at them occasionally, but only because I want to help normalize their place in our society, not because I want to disparage them.

I personally think that modern fear of and prejudice against homosexuality is as ill-informed as witch hunts of old. Who among us "chooses" our sexual proclivities? People are sexually attracted to every imaginable style, type, sound, smell, look, height, weight, costume, personality, and body part that you can name. These aren't things we choose. Some people are even attracted to people wearing stuffed animal costumes. Who "chooses" that consciously? As long as both partners are consenting adults, who am I to judge them?

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Since I was a kid, I've always found skywriting and aerial banners fascinating. Especially skywriting – to this day I don't know how a pilot can figure out what he/she is doing when he/she can't step back and look at his/her work. (When are we going to come up with a permanent solution to the non-gender-specific pronoun for situations like this? Personally, I'd be happy to use "it," but then there would people who would be all like, "I'm not an "it"! God made me in His image. Is God an "it"?!" And I'd be all like, "Whatever, dude.")

Here is an unusual aerial banner that I just found. Who spends the money on a message like this? It's got some humor and shock value, but what's the point? There's no arguing that some people misuse Jesus, but it certainly isn't his fault. I see this as misplaced aggression. And what if Jesus had taken it seriously and objected?

Here is another one pulled by an invisible airplane. Clearly, this banner is the answer to a question, but what question? Who gave me herpes?

It's cheap for a hardcover book, too, only $10. Even in this hideous economy, $10 for a gift that will keep on giving is gypsy cheap. My suggestion is to buy one for everyone on your holiday list and black out the price on the back cover. They'll think you spent a fortune. Every cartoon is in color, too.

Friday, October 24, 2008

As super heroes go, I could use one with mad massage skills more often as just about any other power. If someone flew through my window once a day and gave me acupuncture and massage, I'd be as happy as Lois Lane.

For those of you planning to attend that big annual Bizarro Fan Convention at which people dress like my characters or me, stand in line for hours to get an autograph, exchange meaningless minutiae about my work and get aroused at rumors of a Bizarro movie directed by Peter Jackson, here's a bit of Bizarro trivia: The b/w image below has one fundamental difference from the color one at top, besides the lack of color. Can you find it?

I originally intended this guy to be named "Captain Tension," so in my pencil version, there was a "T" on his chest and the copy at bottom said Captain Tension. As I was inking it, however, I decided to change the name of the character to "Captain Neck Rub," but forgot to change the letter on his chest. I turn in my black and white cartoons on Monday and they get sent through the system and mailed out to all the client papers. I don't send the color versions in until the subsequent Friday and by that time, I had noticed my error and changed it.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

I got an email last week from someone who really loved this cartoon. She said she laughed and laughed. Common wisdom in the newspaper world is that for every letter you get, there are x number of other people who feel the same way. I'm going to pretend that number is 6 billion. That means that virtually every person on the planet thought this cartoon was funny as hell. That's a good feeling, my friends.

Does anyone out there know at what point Americans began describing all UFO drivers aslooking like this guy at left? I'm guessing there was some pop culture event that depicted them this way and it caught on. The first time I ever saw this face was on this book cover, so perhaps that was it. Or, maybe the ones that began visiting in the mid-to-late 20th century actually looked like this and the notion came from truth.

What if extraterrestrials of sufficient intelligence to travel light years across the universe really did visit out planet and turned out to be one inch tall and no stronger than a cockroach? (Do we have any good reason for assuming they would be about our size?) Would we still respect them? Would our government show them around the White House and serve tiny plates to them at a state dinner?

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

I like this cartoon for what it says about pharmaceuticals and western medicine. I'm not against all prescription drugs, I take a crazy pill to keep me level (antidepressant) and in spite of my several attempts to switch to natural alternatives and live without it, I've had to resign myself to the synthetic.

I've said many times here before, veganism(as opposed to vegetarianism) cures so many of these ills that if everyone ate that way it would put big pharm nearly out of business. But to suggest such a radical, "fringe" diet to the public would be absurd! It's much less extreme to ask people to fill their bodies with chemicals than with plants. Makes perfect sense.

As for myself, I try my best to keep the root causes at bay and take as few drugs as possible. I haven't taken an antibiotic for more than ten years, I think, and the only Rx I've taken in that amount of time has been my crazy pills. Part of that is luck, of course, but a lot is lifestyle. Still, I'm not immune to the concept of masking the symptom rather than attacking the cause. I suffer from allergies and opt to take over-the-counter drugs rather than clear the city of the offending plants, for instance. I also suffer from an occasional lack of whooziness, so I sniff glue. But it's prescription glue, so it's totally safe.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

This is something I happened upon accidentally which is among the strangest things I've ever seen. It is reportedly from the 1960s (except for the "Something Weird" bumpers) and is amazing in both look and content. I love the blatant sexism and the way Captain Scott hops around like a monkey. The process was apparently called "colormation," which is amusing for obvious reasons.

But what can we do about it in a free society? Not much. To shut them down for misleading the country would violate our freedom of speech, which all of us hold dear. But allowing them to perpetuate ignorance,bigotry and jingoism erodes all of our rights and the constitution itself. It's a catch-22 with no end in sight.

On the bright side, judging by the polls and the unprecedented number of people who have donated small amounts to Obama's campaign, I'm tempted to think that most Americans really are smart enough to finally rise up and do something about this trend toward the abyss. Perhaps we really are about to see average people band together and defeat the corporate old-boy network that runs the world. Perhaps on November 4, more people than anyone could have predicted will turn out to vote and McCain will be buried under a landslide of discontent and things will begin to turn around.

These cliches are no accident, of course. Certain set-ups just lend themselves to commenting on life. The psychiatrist's couch and the gates of Heaven are two perfect examples. You can just say so much about the human condition in those situations.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

I cannot tell you how happy I am that this current presidential election is not primarily about terrorism. The only reason terrorism works for terrorists is because it captures people's fear and forces them to change their behavior. The worst thing a government that is supposedly "fighting" terrorism can do, is promote the danger to its people. By doing so, you play right into the hands of the terrorists as they sit back and watch your freedom and peace slip away at your own hands. But the Neo-Cons have done exactly that.

Since the beginning of human history, some politicians have been willing to do whatever it takes to stay in power, even if it means cooperating with the bad guys while pretending to fight them. The truth is, terrorism claims so few lives each year that it is less of a threat to your way of life than pretzels. On average, far more Americans die choking on snack foods each year than at the hands of terrorists. So why are we so easily convinced to give our highest office to an unqualified boob, just because he seems "tougher" in a schoolyard way? Shame on us, we get what we deserve.

It looks as though enough of us have learned our lesson that we will not fall for it again this November, however. Assuming we can keep an eye on the myriad GOP election-tampering operations.

Back to this cartoon: I had a terrific time drawing this one. Designing and illustrating a deviant slug's lair was a kick. Using tiny firecrackers to blow up the salt shaker, the "X" on the garden blueprint, the tiny "to go" packets he's using to fill the shaker, all were jolly little details to think of and draw.

Saturday, October 18, 2008

I got a lot of mail from an organization called M.O.T.H. (Mothers of Teenage Hunchbacks) about this cartoon. They made a good point: Hunchbacked children suffer greatly at the hands of their peers – kids being the unrepentant puppets of Satan that they are – and making fun of them in the comics is a slap in the face that they just don't need.

If any hunchbacked children – or "differently-postured children," as they prefer to be called – were hurt by this cartoon, I sincerely apologize. Until I started getting mail from M.O.T.H., I thought that hunchbackism was a fictional malady, like vampirism or erectile dysfunction. I stand corrected.

But the news for these kids isn't all bad. Some companies are actually catering to differently-postured children, and I commend them. (Of course, the rotting carcasses they serve at places like that destroy the environment and damage the child's health, but at least they get a plastic toy.)

So I'd like to say thanks to M.O.T.H. for opening my eyes to a segment of our society of which I was not previously aware, and also, hats off and a pat on the back to differenty-postured kids everywhere!

Friday, October 17, 2008

People often ask me how I come up with cartoon ideas. My routine response is that the vast majority of my ideas occur to me while watching one of my cats clean herself.

This idea, however, did not result from that activity. Instead, it came to me when I read an email from my teenage colleague, Victor, in which he attached a cartoon idea of his about the original sphinx prototype being in an embarrassing position. I liked the idea, added my inimitable professional touches (i.e.; redrew it haphazardly in my style and added some lame dialogue) and signed my name. If you know Victor, don't tell him. He's just a kid, so how much can happen, but still.

But now, in my declining years, I have come to understand that it is simply the way I am wired. A person has no more control over their sexual proclivities than the colors they find attractive or fragrances they enjoy. For instance, the most beautiful, charming, intelligent, creative, compassionate, educated woman in the world could walk up to me stark naked and ask me to take her home, and if she smelled like a full litter box, I would turn her down. I'm one of those people who does not like the smell of a litter box, and I have to accept that in myself.

Wednesday, October 15, 2008

This has nothing to do with today's cartoon, but I don't have much to say about today's cartoon. Instead, let's talk about bad grammar. When done casually, it makes a person seem uneducated. Our current President is a perfect example. When done with real panache, it can be sublime.

Sort of the like financial issues: if you screw up a little, you lose money and/or go to jail, if you screw up monumentally and take half the world with you, the government will bail you out and you can be rich again. God bless us everyone.

For fun with bad english, go to Engrish.com. I warn you not to visit until you have some time to waste, I've gotten lost in that web site for hours.

The creators of this site have done something really fun. It's a pic with invisible clickable links and voices that imagine a Sarah Palin presidency. Worth a quick visit, don't forget to move your cursor around the photo and find the hidden links.And turn your sound on. http://palinaspresident.com/

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

I usually feature the comic that ran in papers one week previous to a given date, but I'm not that fond of the one I ran last week on this day, so I'm posting this one instead.

This was not published in Bizarro, but will be published in a Swedish comic book doing an issue about biodiversity. They asked me to do a full-page comic on the theme of endangered species and this is what I submitted.

If you're very young or extremely poorly educated, you may not recognize the literary conceit. It is from old Agatha Christie-style crime novels (Perhaps Christie invented this motiff, I dunno) where the British constable or inspector calls all the suspects from the book (or movie) into a lavish Victorian drawing room and announces he knows who the killer is and that he is in this room. Everyone in attendance gasps, the camera pans around the room as each face looks suspiciously at the others (unless it's a book, in which case there are no cameras or faces, you just have to imagine it, which is a lot of brain effort and could account for why books are less popular than movies in some areas of our country, especially the ones with large Palin rallies) then the inspector recounts the crime step-by-step and eventually exposes the killer.

At this point, everyone grabs the killer and subdues him, or he darts for a door and a bobby (British for "cop") is waiting on the other side to arrest him. This is the polite and bloodless (British for "non-American") way the British catch criminals.

If this method were tried in modern-day America, the detective would call everyone into a bleak white, flourescent-lit room full of folding chairs and lock the doors. He would shout for all the motherf-ckers to shut the f-ck up because he knows who the killer is and he's going to pop a cap in his a--. At this point, the killer would produce two large handguns and, rotating his wrists 90º so that the guns were laying over on their sides, cross his arms, jump high into the air, and shoot wildly as he summersaulted over the small group of unsavory street scum. People would scatter, guns would be drawn, flashes of gunpowder would fill the room, and a car would crash through a wall. The killer would jump onto the hood and, while hanging onto the windshield wipers with the toes of his shoes, spray the room with bullets, causing an explosion, as the car continued through the next wall, down the hall and into the street for his getaway.

Monday, October 13, 2008

This cartoon confused a few readers, though I would not have anticipated that. Part of it is my fault. By hiding the dynamite under the old geezer's chair, people assumed it meant something about death or suicide. My bad, as the kids say. For the unknowing: I put a few icons in each cartoon – pie, dynamite, eyeball, alien, K2, bunny head – and it has nothing to do with the joke. See here for deeper meanings.

Instead, the cartoon is just meant to be a simple before/after visual of what time does to us. Nothing more philosophical than that, sorry.

I recently turned older on my birthday, something that I have been doing once every year or so for most of my life. I may discontinue that practice soon, however, as I am not happy with some of the side effects.

I enjoy every aspect of aging except for the effect it seems to be having on my body. I still look much younger than I am, which is good, but I don't feel much younger, which is bad. I can now pull a muscle in my back just by sneezing. The pain lasts for days. My knees sound like gravel in a cardboard box when I climb stairs. Mysterious pains pop up in my joints for no reason and hang around for weeks.

I expect I may live to be 100, many of us in this generation will if we don't render the planet uninhabitable for humans or blow each other up first. But in the end, I don't really care how long I live, as long as the quality is good.

I looked at these guys two ways: if they did it as a joke, knowing they'd get caught and just seeing how far down the road to Wonderland they could take the media and Bigfoot Believers, they were geniuses – if they did it thinking they could get away with it and be famous, they were barely smarter than their ratty monkey-suit partner.

I'm not sure why people are so fascinated with the idea of a big hairy thing running around in the woods. It must fill some common psychological need or so many people worldwide wouldn't be trying so hard to believe it, especially in the face of overwhelming odds against it.

Let's say for the sake of argument that creatures the size of RuPaul are scampering through the woods all over this planet. And not just one or two, but enough to keep the species going for centuries. And even though they are huge, hairy, slow-moving and all over the place, they've never been caught or photographed. And they have gigantic feet making them all that much easier to track and impossible to sneak around in terrain which is mostly covered with crackly dead leaves. Even if we believe all of that, to make this creature plausible we further have to believe that it is also smart enough to bury itself before it dies, so its remains are never found, in spite of the throngs of rednecks crawling through the underbrush looking.

Invaders from another planet is another story, however. Far more possibilities, far more evidence, far more liklihood. I am convinced many have assimilated into our society and some may even be trying to make their way into our government.